


Fragment

by bonesmctightass



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Boken Bones, Character Death, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonesmctightass/pseuds/bonesmctightass
Summary: Captaincy takes a heavy toll. Jim doesn't even know who he is anymore.





	

Being captain of a starship is not a privilege. It is a  _ burden.  _ Every bad call, every failure, every lost life chips away at you until you're merely a shell of who you once were. Yes, this is the job you signed up for, but nothing prepares you for what it takes away from you. 

 

You get to know people up there, your crew, make friends up in the stars. They become your family. And how could they not? You spend every single second together. Working, eating, sleeping,  _ loving _ . Those people would lay down their lives to save yours. And they do. For the good of the mission. For the good of the  _ ship _ . 

 

Jim Kirk stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are growing hollow, lifeless. The light that once shone in them has long since died out. A beard grows thickly on his jaw. Can't even muster the will to shave. He gazes at the man peering back at him, doesn't even recognize the person he's become. Each time he blinks he hopes the image will change, but it doesn't. 

 

_ Foolish. _

 

Setting his jaw, Jim takes leave of his quarters and heads straight to sickbay. Pretty unheard of, if you knew him. Chapel is hovering by the doorway waiting for him. She offers a weak smile that Jim doesn't have the wherewithal to return. There in the back, in a private room, lays Leonard McCoy. Jim plods into the chair at the side of the biobed, where he's made his home, and reaches for a calloused hand, the very same one that put him back together countless times. 

 

The mission was routine. It always starts off that way. The universe has a funny way of lulling you into this false sense of security. Then all hell breaks loose. Just one moment. That's all it takes for a life to fall apart. An exploration of a primitive war-like culture. It could have been Jim. It  _ should  _ have been. But Leonard saw the landmine before Jim had even thought to look for it. A slightly raised patch of earth was the only indication it was even there. 

 

Hazards of the job, Leonard would say. If he could. There wouldn't be any blame, Jim knows. But that's just fine. Jim blames himself enough for the two of them. 

 

Dr. M’benga did everything he could, but the damage was too great. They couldn't compensate for the blood loss, the broken bones, the severed tissue. Too much brain damage, he said. Leonard went into a coma, and there he stayed. 

 

It was more than Jim could bear. Two days in, he was plagued with nightmares. Five days in he started using alcohol to numb the pain. Ten days, Jim's spending more time drunk than sober. Spock takes command. Seventeen days, he doesn't eat or sleep or do much of anything anymore. A month passes and Jim can't bring himself to leave the medical bay, or turn his head, or breathe, or even blink.  

 

But today. Today, he needed a shower. A fresh uniform, though it doesn't mean anything anymore. Jim isn't a captain. He wouldn't even qualify as an ensign. He isn't anything anymore.

 

Jim sighs heavily, hunches over the bed and squeezes Leonard's hand harder. “Wake up, wake  _ up _ . Don't leave me alone, not like this.” He wants to cry but no tears come. There aren't any left. 

 

“Captain.” Chapel's gentle voice faintly registers in Jim's ears. “Captain, please. You have to decide.” 

 

Yes, there's no more time to give. Jim must decide if he's going to pull the plug. The life support systems aren't doing anything for Leonard anyway. Prolonging the inevitable, perhaps. Jim knows what he has to do but he  _ can't _ . Couldn't possibly make the call to kill his CMO, his friend, his  _ lover _ . In a way he already had, yes, but  _ this, _ it would be like his hand plunging a knife into Leonard's heart. 

 

Spock appears in the doorway. Jim isn't really surprised to see him. Of course they called him. They should have. If he were in his right mind, he would have too. 

 

“Jim, this has gone on quite enough. For his sake, and for yours,  _ please _ , Jim. Please end this.” Spock is frowning, pleading with every fiber of his being, begging for the misery to let his captain out of its noose. 

 

Time stops. All eyes are on Jim. Jim's eyes are on Leonard. He takes a breath and holds it. It's all he can do to stop himself from coming apart at the seams. 

 

The once proud captain of the Enterprise sags against the bed, fallen, defeated. He grips Leonard's body as his is wracked with a violent sob. Jim finally nods his assent. Spock lays a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezes. 

 

Jim can't watch, can't  _ breathe _ . 

 

“He would not want to live like this,” Spock says quietly. Jim knows that's true, even though this isn't really living at all and he finds warped amusement in the irony.

 

When Chapel disables the life supports systems Jim presses an ear to Leonard's chest, hangs on every artificial breath until no more come. The dam breaks. Jim is crying freely now. 

 

He doesn't remember much after that. 

 

A few hours pass. At least, he thinks it's only been that long. Jim tries to move and finds he can't. He's in sickbay again. Maybe he never left. He's strapped to a biobed. 

 

“I am truly sorry, Jim.” Spock's voice. He sounds  _ sad _ . “You had to be restrained. For your own safety.” Jim can't stand the way Spock is looking at him. Like he's frail, broken, and  _ fuck _ it's  _ true _ . 

 

The memories start flooding back. Gentle waves of awareness ebbing softly into his consciousness. Yes, he tried to hurt himself. Jim remembers now. There are so many hyposprays in easy reach of the beds. So many options. It would have been so easy. He would have done it, too, put himself out of his misery if Spock hadn't been there to stop him with brutal force. Surely Leonard wouldn't blame him for that small moment of weakness. 

 

“I'm fine now.” Jim insists, but he doesn't believe his own words. Spock relents and unclasps the restraints. They snap back into place at the bed’s edge. 

 

Jim slides off the fixture and ambles back to the room he spent the last month living in. The bed is empty now. It's better this way. 

 

“I’m sorry, Bones. I won't let you down again.” 

  
And he means it.


End file.
